Page 51 of Strut

Hunter thought about that. “I guess so. I mean he’s friendly and charming, but I don’t know him that well.”

“Is he married?”

Hunter cocked his head. “Not that I know of. In fact, therewassome hubbub in Rome about a year ago. Some model was stalking the poor guy, apparently. Can I ask why you want to know? Should I be worried?” It came off teasing but the unease in his eyes belied the tone.

Shit.“No. Of course not. I’m just being nosey. If I work with him in the future, it’s good to know this stuff. I mean, he’s Berlini’s go-to, right?”

Hunter nodded. “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. He had to love you. What’s not to love?” He nuzzled into my neck, nibbling and kissing and sending bolts of pleasure straight to my balls. “How about we get dressed, get our gay on, and grab an early brunch in The Village? I can tick it off my bucket list.”

“What?” I couldn’t believe it. “How the hell can you call yourself a gay man and yet you’ve never brunched in Greenwich?”

He shrugged. “Hey, I’ve fucked ’em and left ’em for ten years, making sure they were well gone before breakfast. That’s equally a gay standard, right?”

I laughed. “True. God knows how you’re coping with having an actual boyfriend.”

Hunter pulled me to him and nipped my nose. “I’m coping just fine, thank you.” And then he kissed me hard enough to curl my toes.

* * *

Blast Off was an expensive ticket-only affair, plus invited media, and was aimed at the moneyed of New York to raise funds for six children’s charities. It packed out the stunning Angel Orensanz Foundation on the Lower East Side, an old synagogue, and one of the most beautiful venues in New York. I’d need to sell my left kidney, or maybe both, to actually afford a ticket.

It kicked off with champagne and cocktails followed by a fashion extravaganza from a number of top labels including Chanel and Givenchy. Then the runways were cleared and there was more ridiculously expensive food with entertainment by some trending singer or band. Attendees came dressed to kill in the labels of the moment and I even spotted a couple of men sporting Flare designs. I fired off a text to Hunter so he’d be on the watch and maybe grab a photo for Rhys.

“Hey,” a familiar voice slid over my shoulder as I was being dressed for my first runway spin.

I turned to find Tim looking... dreadful. Even makeup couldn’t hide the tight lines that pulled at the corners of his mouth and the black shadows that framed his beautiful, huge brown eyes. Hopefully the lighting would bleach it out.

“Hey. What are you doing here?” I lifted my arms so the stylist could pin a tighter underarm on the billowing green shirt that drifted like gossamer across my skin, and I sure hoped this was on the freebie list.

Tim shrugged dismissively and I wanted to hug him. “Harry Gen is in hospital with appendicitis, so they called me. We’re a close enough match.”

They were, and I knew Harry was a thorn in Tim’s side for that very reason. He generally got picked over Tim if it came down to a choice. “Well, that’s great news for you. So you’re walking for Goldman?”

He nodded.

“Good luck.”

“You too.” His gaze skittered off my face and over the cramped backstage space buzzing with a hundred different conversations. Models, wardrobe stylists, hair and makeup, designers, photographers, journalists, assistants, agents, and general hangers-on all jockeyed for space. The eight labels featuring on the program were all big names, and each one came with an entourage to rival a royal family.

“Thanks for the text, by the way.” He avoided my gaze and my heart squeezed. “Sorry I didn’t get back, but I knew you’d be here, so...”

I reached for his hand. “No problem. Are you—”

“Right.” The stylist interrupted. “You’re ready for your first run. Better hit the line.” She nudged me in the direction of the frantic designer who was opening the show. Having Jacob and two other designers book me was a time management disaster, but it was also something of a coup, so I wasn’t complaining.

“Got a minute?” I asked Tim and he nodded.

“Goldman is second to last.”

I tugged him toward Jacob’s line of models and slotted into my place. Then I lowered my voice. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged. “Fine. A bit disappointed.”

He didn’t look fine at all. I glanced around but no one was paying any attention. “Did you ask him about it?”

Tim rolled his eyes and I wanted to shake him. There was no hiding he’d been hurt badly. “He apologised. Said his editor asked him to change the copy a couple of days before the column came out because José had just picked up the Dior contract. Miles said he couldn’t argue without it looking like favouritism.”

I barely held back a derisive snort. “I bet he never told you that while he was fucking you,” I hissed, then winced. “Sorry. That was totally out of line.”

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